


Five Times Peter and Sylar Fought, and One Time It Wasn't Really a Fight at All.

by lornrocks



Category: Fandom: Heroes
Genre: 5+1, Angst, Fighting, Fluff, Hurt, Immortality, M/M, Slash, dumbstuff, fiveplusone, i'm a fair weather fan of myself, livingtogether, not a big fan of this one either, petlar, pylar, seasons1through4, what can i say, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornrocks/pseuds/lornrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning, there were a lot of things they disagreed on. Usually, with their fists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Peter and Sylar Fought, and One Time It Wasn't Really a Fight at All.

FIve Fights the Boys Got Into (And One That Wasn't Really a Fight At All)

5\. Smashing Sylar's face in with his fist was not nearly as satisfying as Peter had hoped it would be. Still, armed with the Haitian's power, he was nearly unstoppable against the other man, especially when he was able to use brute force and the occasional nail gun.

Vaguely, Peter wonders if the two of them will ever get in a fight that doesn't end in bloodshed, but then he remembers the first time they met and how Sylar had shoved him off a building.

He draws back his hand and smacks that stupid smirk off the other man's face, barely containing the delight he feels at watching the blood dribbling down his face.

 _Now you know how much it hurts_ , he thinks.

4\. Okay, so maybe he was being a little harsh on the other man. But when you're stuck in someone else's head for an indeterminable amount of time, you start to get irritated.

Maybe it wasn't Sylar's fault that he kept remembering Nathan's memories, but that didn't mean Peter had to freak out on him. Again.

Sylar actually looks hurt when Peter yells at him, slinking away to go mope somewhere, like usual.

This time, though, he turns back around and tries to apologize again, and God dammit if Peter wasn't tired of those two words. He turns around and they start yelling all over again. For a minute, Peter contemplated the sledgehammer in the other man's hands and wonders if they're destined, yet again, to resort to blows above all else, but then Sylar surprises him by actually helping with the wall.

He doesn't want to admit it, but Peter feels bad. So maybe he does dig around for a while until he finds another copy of that book for Sylar.

Doesn't mean anything.

3\. A long, long time passed in the nightmare. Maybe Peter didn't say it out loud, but he forgave Sylar. So when Peter finds himself standing in the middle of Central Park and trying to figure out the best way to avoid the reporters, maybe he does decide his first and foremost thing is to grab Sylar and run.

Sylar isn't too keen on the idea.

"You want me to stay at your apartment? Really?"

Peter's brow furrows and he frowns as best he can, trying to look as indignant as possible.

"I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on you-"

"You really think I'm going to go back to how I was? After all this time? Jesus, Peter. I can't believe you."

Sylar has shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders drooping, his now famous pose tugging at something inside of Peter. The empath realizes that Sylar is feeling vulnerable, persecuted.

"That's not what I mean, Sylar."

The taller man eyes him carefully for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out something, but no idea springs to mind. Finally, he takes a step forward and asks, softly, "Why do you want me at your place, Peter? Really?"

Peter has no idea what to say. He's not even sure. He just shakes his head and looks away.

When he looks back, the other man is already gone, and Peter walks back to his apartment feeling lightheaded and melancholy. He lives the next few days in a fog, moving without thinking, and desperately, he tries to figure out why he couldn't answer Sylar.

Almost a week later, Peter wakes up in the middle of the night, hearing a loud knock on his front door. He stumbles over, still half asleep and looking like a mess, and when he opens the door, he jolts awake.

Sylar is standing there, collar of his jacket popped up against the cold outside, holding a small bag and looking just a little unsure.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Peter just nods and opens the door wider, quietly thanking himself for having been sound of mind enough to get his furniture back out of storage.

2\. Living with Sylar isn't a whole lot different than being stuck with him in the nightmare, except here they really do need to eat and sleep, and also, Sylar is apparently a neat freak.

They manage, though, as best as they can, until they get into a (stupid) argument over keeping the apartment clean.

Peter says he's sorry he forgot to empty the dishwasher, he was tired from work; Sylar says that Peter would die in his own filth if it weren't for him.

Maybe they overreacted a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

Peter apologizes by cleaning the entire kitchen and bathroom, and getting a brand new Swiffer; Sylar apologizes by cooking Peter his favorite pasta for dinner.

They get over it.

1\. Sometimes, Peter tries to figure out who is always starting these fights. He really has no idea. Maybe it's Sylar sometimes, maybe it's Peter other times.

Currently, though, he's standing in the kitchen, staring down at his cup of coffee and trying to decide if he should invest in an espresso maker. He's halfway across the small space to the fridge when things just...stop.

The next thing he remembers is someone calling his name, sounding scared and desperate, and then he's being rolled over and something warm and firm is under his head, and he can barely open his eyes, but there, leaning above him, is Sylar, looking down at him with a worried expression.

He realizes, somewhat belatedly, that the other man has pulled his head into his lap. It's kind of funny, he thinks, except suddenly he forgets how to laugh and just blinks a few more times instead.

"Wha-?"

Sylar shushes him, and before Peter realizes what's happening, he's actually being scooped up and carried through the kitchen, through the living room, and gently laid down on his bed, where he's tucked in. His eyes flutter shut again before he even realizes that he was still tired.

When he wakes up, a glass of water is sitting on his nightstand with a bottle of ibuprofen. He groans and sits up, feeling like hell but a lot less dead than he did before.

Sitting in an armchair next to the bed, Sylar watches him, carefully, tilting his head to the side.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

Peter is taken aback for a moment, but then he remembers what he's supposed to answer and he shrugs.

"I don't know what you mean."

Sylar continues to watch him, eyes slightly narrowed, before he stands up and runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"You do _this_ ," he pauses and gestures vaguely in the other man's direction, "And you work so hard, and you don't even bother caring about things like eating or sleeping, and the next thing I know, you're passed out on the kitchen floor..."

He trails off and frowns, turning his gaze to the wall and taking a deep breath.

"It's not that bad," Peter tries to defend himself, he really does, but he's still so tired and Sylar is so, so mad.

"Bullshit, Peter! You don't think I don't see? You're working yourself to death, all for what? Something you can't change. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you double shifting every day and forgetting about your own needs isn't going to bring back people who've died or help you find yourself. It's useless."

Peter is furious, and hurt, and confused, and he's still just so dizzy, but he stands up anyway, stomping over to Sylar and backing him against the wall, like he did so long ago.

"Oh, like you have any idea what it's like to try and be a good person? To help other people? You're the one who's pathetic, begging for forgiveness when you don't even deserve it. You know how hard I"ve worked to undo your wrongs? You're a monster, and you always will be."

Maybe that last part was a little harsh, but Peter's not thinking clearly and he can't just sit there and have the other man insult him.

Sylar's features soften, just a little, for a fraction of a second, before he composes himself and shoves Peter away, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. A second later, Peter hears the front door slam shut and immediately regrets what he just said.

He ends up pulling his work clothes on and heading in early, greeting a surprised Hesam with a mumbled greeting.

"You look like shit, Pete," his partner says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it."

For a long time, neither of them say anything, opting instead to do their job, but at the end of their shift, Peter is leaning against a wall in the rec room.

"Did you and that Gabe guy or whatever get in a fight or something?"

Peter's brow furrows.

"How did you know?"

His friend's lips quirk in a smile and he shrugs one shoulder, replying, "You only act like this when you two are fighting." He shuts his locker. "I hope you work it out."

Peter's left alone and doesn't know what to do.

When he walks home that night, he ends up taking a detour and he walks for a long, long time. He doesn't really realize where he's going until he's standing in Kirby Plaza in front of a giant red statue.

Somehow, not unexpectedly, he sees Sylar, standing on the other side of the statue, hands shoved in his pockets. When he sees Peter, he just looks down, and it's not until Peter has walked around and stands almost exactly in front of him that he looks up.

"I'm sorry I said what I did," Peter begins, and then sighs, adding, "I guess I just never realized that I might...worry you."

Sylar nods a few times, then looks up, the same vulnerable look on his face as the time he asked Peter to forgive him inside the nightmare.

"I'm sorry too, Peter. For what I said. I didn't mean it."

Peter actually lunges forward and tugs the other man into a hug, feeling just a little silly but loving the way Sylar's arms squeeze around him all the same.

0\. They're sitting on the roof of their apartment building, staring at the stars, and Peter feels so happy. He hasn't felt this at peace for a long time, and he wonders if his new roommate had anything to do with it. They've spent a lot of time together since Sylar has come to stay with him, mostly reading comic books, watching movies, walking in the Park, whatever. He knows Sylar- well, Gabriel- so well, and he decides he's one of the few privileged to know. He likes it.

But he doesn't say anything. He never does.

He's thinking about saying something, about pointing out a particularly bright star, when Sylar is the first to speak.

"You should let me fix your empathy, Peter."

The medic starts, trying to figure out what the other man has said, before turning and looking at him with a surprised expression.

"What? Why?"

Sylar doesn't say anything, just draws his mouth in a line and half heartedly shrugs, as if to say, whatever.

"I like being able to master one ability before moving on to the next. It's a lot less messy than my old ability. And, I don't think I'm going to explode anytime soon."

He tries to laugh at his own joke, but he can't. Sylar turns his head away so it's no longer visible to the other man, and begins to speak, quietly, as if he's not sure how to say what he wants to.

"It's just...if I fix your empathy, then you can hold more than one ability at a time, and then you can take healing again."

Peter shifts so his body is facing Sylar's and tentatively reaches a hand out, resting it just on the other man's shoulder. He doesn't flinch, so Peter leaves it there.

"I'd be immortal again." He waits a beat. "Like you."

Sylar tenses just a little, then relaxes again, and suddenly, Peter realizes why he brought up the subject in the first place.

"You don't want to be alone, you want me to be with you. Right?"

There's a long pause, and then, Sylar whispers, weakly, "Yes."

Something squeezes at Peter's heart, but he ignores it, opting instead to ask, "Why me?"

He receives no answer, and feeling frustrated, Peter huffs a little and pulls his hand away, shifting back to his original sitting position.

"Why can't you open up to me? Can you tell me the truth, just this once?"

His voice is threatening to crack so he shuts his mouth, glaring up at the stars and silently wishing that every major event in his life didn't take place on a goddamned roof.

"You wouldn't understand, Peter."

The sudden outburst makes Peter turn and look at Gabriel, who looks back at him with sad eyes.

"Try me," the medic replies, wondering how his voice got softer without his permission.

A timid hand gently slides over and entwines itself with his, and Peter finds himself squeezing it.

"I- well, I don't know how to put this, so I'll just say it." He takes a breath, reaching out his other hand to rest gently against the other man's cheek.

"I've been in love with you for so, so long, Peter, and I just can't imagine living without you."

Peter feels a huge weight lift from his chest and he actually deflates a little, whispering, "That's it?"

Sylar nods and Peter ends up leaning forward until their foreheads are touching. He closes his eyes and smiles.

"Well, I guess in that case, okay. I don't want you to not be in my life, either."

He can almost feel Sylar's happiness as he chuckles in relief and tilts his chin up, capturing Peter's lips with his own. For a long time, they kiss, forgetting what they were fighting about in the first place.

Later, when Peter remembers as he lays next to Sylar, half asleep, he decides it wasn't really a fight, anyway. This thing, whatever it was- friendship, forgiveness, love- it was never something to be fought. It was just something to embrace.

Finally, Peter was ready to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> Written a long time ago for LJ.


End file.
